


Maybe One Day;

by Memoryboard



Series: Love and Madness [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Child Abuse, Coming of Age, Depression, Domestic Violence, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Sexual Identity, Young Love, Young Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 21:39:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10201076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memoryboard/pseuds/Memoryboard
Summary: When Viktor was eleven, he never understood what relationships were all about.It was nice, having to listen to his friends talk about girls and how far they went with them, but Viktor didn’t seem to understand why this was so important.He liked girls, sure, he even thought some of them were beautiful—but not as beautiful as Alexei.Was it wrong for Viktor to think that Alexei was far more beautiful than any girl or boy he’s ever seen?(A Prequel to Kaleidoscope but can be read as stand-alone. This doesn't mean I don't highly encourage reading the original series, though. <3)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dustbunnyprophet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbunnyprophet/gifts).



> I blame [Mistigrix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistigrix/pseuds/Mistigrix) for planting this idea into my head.
> 
> This is also for [dustbunnyprophet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbunnyprophet/pseuds/dustbunnyprophet) for being awesome as hell.
> 
> So many triggers down there, just saying.

**When Viktor was five, his mama introduced him to Yakov Feltsman.**

“I’m glad you decided to have him skate under my wing, Madame Nikiforova,” the man said. He looked to be blading, a few grey hairs lining his otherwise none-existent blonde strands. “Surely, it won’t be a problem for him to stay in St. Petersburg from time to time.”

“No, not at all.” His mama beamed. She was lovely when she smiled like that. “He said he wanted to try it, and I told him it wouldn’t be easy, but my dear Vitya is stubborn."

Lilia snorted from across the room. “And we both know where he gets that from.”

Lilia Baranovskaya, Yakov’s fiancé, was a ballerina. She was—in his mama’s words—devastatingly beautiful, moved with the pride and grace of a true ballerina.

Viktor wondered what it was that she saw in the cranky forty-year-old man that was Yakov.

“Ah, Viktor, this is Lilia,” Yakov gestured toward the woman, his expression fond. “She’ll be teaching you ballet and jazz when we’re not working on your skating.”

Lilia offered Viktor an expression that resembled that of approval, and nodded.

His mama adjusted her shoulder bag and handed Viktor his own duffel, filled with a week’s worth of winter clothes and training gear.

She knelt in front of him, long fingers caressing his pale cheek, her smile slightly sad but unwavering. “You be good, alright _Vitenka_? I will come back next week. Just in time for papa’s birthday, okay?”

“But mama,” Viktor pouted. “I haven’t bought him a gift yet!”

His mama laughed.

Lilia Baranovskaya might be devastatingly beautiful, but this didn’t mean that Katerina Nikiforova couldn’t compete. If Lilia was a supernova, to Viktor, his mama was a whole galaxy—alive and beautiful and immeasurable in many ways.

“We’ll stop by somewhere when I come to get you, alright?” She kissed him on the cheek, dearly so. “I'll miss you.”

And so for a whole week, Viktor worked.

Training under Yakov meant that there was no room to play around.

Working with Lilia meant that all movement should be exquisite, all stretches for the purpose of perfecting form.

He learned the basics of ballet and ice skating, just how to move at first, and then he was introduced to the jumps. Just singles. Each time he took off, his body would spin a few times above the ice, and for a split second, he felt like he was flying.

He never felt so free and powerful.

Yakov was neither unkind nor forgiving. Viktor’s feet bled, his chest heaved, his muscles protested.

But that’s okay.

He trained and trained for those very few seconds he was spinning mid-air, and as he got the hang of it, he was starting to love all it—all of it.

If his feet bled, it meant that he had wasted no time to learn all his body could manage.

If he had bruises, it meant that he had courageously pushed himself to the point of breaking, and nothing less.

If he got a blister, it meant that his skin was going to get used to the feeling of moving constantly soon.

“The child’s a prodigy,” Lilia said from the corner of the rink, her eyes watchful.

“I know,” Yakov replied, a smile creeping up at the side of his lips, eyes critical but nevertheless amazed. "He might become a legend."

-

As promised, his mama came back a week later, Viktor happily running to her arms.

“There you are,” she smiled as she pulled away from the embrace, her nose wrinkling slightly, and her beautiful silver hair spilling from where it was tucked behind her ears.

“How are you, Vitenka?” She caressed his face lovingly, eyes like grey mist. “Do you feel tired? Do you want us to get lunch first?”

“I loved it! I love it, mama. I loved every second I was flying in the air!” Viktor grinned back, his duffel forgotten on the ground. “We need to get back to Moscow as soon as possible. I want to give papa my gift right away!”

“Oh? I didn’t know you already had a gift for him.”

Viktor looked to her, then produced a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. He held it up, almost in front of his mama’s face, and proclaimed, “I made him a card for his birthday!”

His mama put a hand to her chest, her eyes warm. “Oh Vitenka. I’m sure papa will love it! Let’s hurry home, _da_?”

As soon as Viktor came home, he was instantly picked up by Anton, his embrace warm and welcoming.

His papa, unlike Viktor, had golden hair like spun silk. People said Anton looked a lot like Viktor, and though Katerina didn’t want to admit it, she had given up arguing.

“How’s our little Vitenka doing?” His papa spun him in the air, much like the feeling Viktor got from doing his jumps on the ice. “Did you hurt your feet? Are you hungry?”

“Yes, but I want mama’s cake,” Viktor giggled. “Please let mama bake some cake.”

His papa set him down, blue eyes full of endearment. “Alright.”

Katerina ran to Anton, arms waving in front of her. “But _Zolotse_ , Vitenka isn’t supposed to eat sweets—”

“Shhh,” Anton raised a finger to his lips, looking slightly devious. His blue eyes went to Viktor, and winked. “Just a little bit won’t hurt. Right, Vitenka?”

His mama sighed. “Alright,” she moved to the kitchen to check the cabinets. “I’m going out for groceries. And don’t—” Katerina pointed at Anton’s direction, whom resorted to cowering behind their son. “Don’t you dare give him sweets. The cake is enough for tonight, do you boys understand?”

Viktor and his papa nodded simultaneously, both going very still as they watched Katerina make her way out of the house.

As soon as the door closed, Anton sighed.

He put his hand on Viktor's shoulder, looking entirely devious again, and grinned. “How about those Belgian chocolates I promised to bring home, you want a taste of it?”

Although a bit torn, Viktor nodded happily.

“But of course, don’t tell mama, okay?”

“Okay!”

Anton laughed. “Okay, now quickly, before she storms back in.”

* * *

**When Viktor was eleven, he never understood what relationships were all about.**

It was nice, having to listen to his friends talk about girls and how far they went with them, but Viktor didn’t seem to understand why this was so important.

He liked girls, sure, he even thought some of them were beautiful—but not as beautiful as Alexei.

Alexei was a stunning boy with reddish hair and green eyes. He was about three years older than Viktor, but was no less kind, his smile even more so.

Was it wrong for Viktor to think that Alexei was far more beautiful than any girl or boy he’s ever seen?

“Vitya, don’t you want a girlfriend?” Nikolai was looking at him, face rather amused. From his tone, Viktor figured his friend had been trying to get his attention more than once. “I heard Alisa likes you. Really, really likes you.”

Viktor frowned. “I knew that,” he huffed, breath billowing into grey fog. “But she isn’t—what do you call that? She isn’t my type.”

“Oh? A lot of girls have been throwing themselves at you, so why not try at least one?” Nikolai asked, as if this were a very normal thing—"to try"—like one would test if the water in the tub was hot enough. “Or maybe this ice skating thing was getting to you. Do you know how many figure skaters are actually gay?”

“Hey, don’t accuse him of that!” Another of his friends, Valentin, chimed in. He looked horrified.

Gay? What was it being gay? And is that a bad thing?

“Huh?”

“You know, gay people.” Nikolai rolled his eyes, leaned forward, and whispered, “Men who like other men. And girls who like other girls, like—” His eyes trailed behind Viktor, and pointed at someone. “Like her.”

Viktor turned to see Dina, the fourteen-year-old transferee who was both loud and full of energy.

Viktor liked her.

He knew her name not because they were friends in any way, but because of the rumours spreading around campus.

She had become slightly famous for her long, dark hair and pretty face, but soon after news of her kissing a girl in who-knows-where, Dina had become alone.

She lost her friends, lost the long line of boys trailing after her, and as the rumours would say, the respect of her own teachers.

None of them even wanted to talk to her for fear of contracting whatever disease she had.

Was that it? Was being gay a disease? Was Viktor sick after all?

“Oh,” Viktor had said, eyes trailing on the lone figure making her way across the hall, trying her best to avoid eye contact with every person she passed by. “I thought she was pretty.”

“Yeah, us too.” Valentin shrugged. “But then she turned out to be like that.”

Viktor’s chest tightened.

Was it pity? Was he afraid? Maybe it was both. It wasn’t like he could do something about it, though.

Not at all.

-

In the Spring, a girl confessed to him.

She was lovely. Her name was Marina and she had red hair and light green eyes—like Alexei.

Viktor was so shocked at the confession, smack in the middle of talking to his friends, that he didn’t feel like it was right to decline.

So he said yes, and after that, his friends went out to celebrate with him, complete with a movie and an offered carton of cigarette.

“Go on, try one of these,” Nikolai prodded.

Yakov would _kill_ Viktor if he knew about this.

But Viktor didn’t disclose the fact that he was also doing rigorous ballet training, for fear that his friends might leave him—that they might tell on him and he’ll end up just like—just like Dina.

Dear god, Dina.

Where was she these days?

The bullying had apparently gotten worse in the last few months—Dina was being shoved into lockers, her gym clothes were being stolen and burned, and her art projects were being defaced by markers. It’s a miracle Dina hadn’t changed schools yet.

Viktor very much wanted to talk to her, but as much as he hated to admit, he knew for a fact that this was social suicide—and there was no way for him to live it down.

He couldn’t imagine himself eating at the cafeteria alone, sometimes in the bathrooms, nor could he ever stand being tripped when he was in a hurry to class.

No, as much as he wanted to make Dina feel like she wasn’t alone, Viktor couldn’t do it.

_It’s either you can’t, or you won’t. Idiot._

“I heard the bigger boys will be waiting for Dina and her girlfriend at the corner of the street,” Nikolai whispered, eyes ready for more gossip.

Viktor’s heart thumped, the bad kind. “Are they going to hurt her?”

“Nah,” Valentin waved his hand, flicking his cigarette to a puddle on the street. “Maybe scare them. I don’t know, what's the cure to being lesbian?”

“I don’t think there’s a cure,” Viktor looked down, his tone flat.

“Yeah, looks like it.” Nikolai said, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “It’s a curse, then. A hex. Too bad, she was hot. She could have had any guy she wanted.”

“True.” Valentin added, sombre.

But Viktor wasn’t listening to the conversation anymore. He was too busy trying to control the ugly feeling forming at the pit of his stomach.

A bad, bad feeling of unease.

-

Viktor had asked for some extra money he needed for a weekend with friends.

Katerina hummed, eyes knowing. “Oh? What is this, Anton? Your son is starting to grow up.”

His papa didn’t say anything, eyes trailed on the newspaper in front of him, but he was smiling.

“Huh?”

“Is it for a date?”

Viktor frowned. “No, I was going with friends.”

Katerina leaned across the table, her eyes turning into slits. “Really?”

“Yes, mama. I’ll be going to the museum and maybe get lunch with Nikolai and Valentin.”

“No can do, then.” His mama sat back, eyes still on him. “If you said it were a date, I would’ve given you money but—”

Viktor blinked, staring.

“It is a date, isn’t it?”

Viktor nodded.

“Alright!” She cheered. “What’s her name again? It was a pretty name—oh yes, Marina was it?”

“Mama!”

Katerina held her hand out to Anton, her eyes still happily wrinkling at the edges. “Look at our baby, Anton, he’s turning into a man! To be honest, your papa was much older when he first had a girlfriend—”

“Mama, please,” Viktor whined. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Maybe we should give him the talk already, _Zolotse_. You’ll never know about kids these days, young as they are—”

Viktor bounded for the door, his backpack slung over his shoulder, cheeks flaring red.

“Tell Marina to come sometime! I’ll cook!”

-

Marina was wonderful.

She was soft-spoken, a little bit shy for Viktor’s taste, but she was both kind and gentle it was hard not to like her. Perhaps, it hadn’t been a bad decision to go on a date with her after all.

“Mama likes this place,” she gestured around the ice cream shop they were currently sitting in, her eyes wandering around the establishment. She had beautiful green eyes, like Alexei’s, but not quite as bright.

Alexei’s had a slight amber colour to them, sprinkled at the edges of his irises, like stars.

“I like it too,” Viktor smiled. He tucked his buzzing phone away, filled with texts and questions from his friends. He wasn’t going to interrupt a perfectly good Summer day out eating ice cream for whatever it is Nikolai and Valentin wanted him to spill. “You like sweets, don’t you?”

Marina blushed. “Yes, I also just realized after we’ve ordered that you shouldn’t be eating any of this.”

Viktor’s eyebrows were raised. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re training, aren’t you?” She had asked. “They say you’ll be joining competitions and stuff.”

“Ah, that’s okay!” He laughed, slightly flattered. “I do indulge from time to time. Yakov—my coach doesn’t seem to believe that a very fast metabolism is a thing, though.”

It was true. Viktor could probably eat whatever he wanted and not worry about his pants getting too tight around the front. He was slightly lanky for his age, but he was also very tall. At eleven, he was towering most of his classmates, all the more reason for girls to squeal over him.

“Oh, that’s great, then!” Marina sighed, almost of relief. “I’m so lucky, you know? Um, most of the girls in my class are jealous because you chose me instead of them.”

Viktor blushed slightly. “I’m not much.”

“Are you serious?” She looked to him in surprise. “You don’t look at the mirror often, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” Viktor reached for his silver hair. It was growing now, long enough to touch his collar. He wondered how long he could manage to grow it before someone noticed—or told him it was wrong to do so. He always wanted his hair long, but Nikolai clicked his tongue upon hearing this, and it was enough motivation for Viktor to visit the barber constantly.

The sound of bell chimes by the establishment door rang in Viktor’s ears.

He looked up and saw—well, he saw Alexei.

Beautiful Alexei, in a white shirt and ripped jeans. His reddish hair looked pristine and well waxed, his eyes bright as ever, as he looked to Viktor’s way and waved.

Viktor fought hard not to blush.

Behind Alexei was another boy, maybe the same age as Alexei, and was almost as beautiful.

“Alexei has a lot of friends,” Marina said, when Viktor’s attention was elsewhere. “Maybe that’s what happens when you join mathematic decathlons all that often.”

Viktor didn’t have the heart to say that he already knew this, that he had stalked Alexei’s Myspace almost every day, and that he had joined the after-class peer tutoring just because he wanted a chance to talk to him. This, was not only something very offensive to say on a date, but also a form of self-destruction. He wasn’t going to admit that. Never.

Not when Marina was pretty and easy to talk to.

Marina also had red hair and green eyes, so that would have been enough.

Maybe.

His staring at Alexei’s direction was interrupted by a sharp gasp, which Viktor would later find out to have come from Marina.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

She was holding her phone, eyes filled with shock, and she swallowed. “Did you—did you know Dina? The girl that...that everyone....always talked about?”

Viktor frowned. “Yes,” he said. “What happened? Did something happen?”

“She—she died.”

-

Dina hung herself on a noose.

This, Viktor wondered why, affected him so much.

He didn’t know, since he was neither her friend or her family, nor did he do something that in any way affected Dina’s life.

Should he have done something?

Should he have talked to her?

If somebody talked to her, if somebody stopped the bullying, would it have to end this way?

Life continued on for the people around Viktor, and sometimes he’ll join them. He still went with Nikolai and Valentin to smoke and play video games, sometimes go through the Vodka stash Nikolai’s dad kept hidden under their kitchen counter. He went to dates with Marina, who still looked happy regardless of what happened just two weeks prior. He ate breakfast and dinner with his mama and papa, who were still in love and uncaring of their rather public displays of affection.

Life went on for everyone.

Everyone except Viktor’s.

Yakov started to notice this. Not that Viktor was slacking, no—but much rather the opposite.

Viktor would push his limits, practice until his toenails cut through skin, until his feet bruised, until his legs gave out. He practiced jumps and fell down enough to cause back pains and a slight limping. He practiced doing ballet rigorously, staying to dance to the music even as Lilia had called for a water break.

“Vitya, that’s enough for today.” Yakov said from across the rink, arms folded in front of him. “You’re young, your body can’t handle this much yet.”

“One more,” Viktor panted, sweat dripping from his forehead down to his shirt. “One more, Yakov. Then, I’ll rest. I promise.”

Viktor was pushing himself, pushing himself further and further until there was nowhere else to move forward.

Marina began to feel Viktor’s absence, too. At first, she was nice about it, telling him to go practice. Soon, she was riddled with worry. She never accused him for not giving her time—no, Marina was sweet and wonderful and she would never demand of Viktor something like that—but then it happened.

He didn’t mean for it to, but one day Marina came to his classroom and said, “Vitya, you’re overworking again. You shouldn’t be practicing this much.”

_Vitya. Vitya. Vitya._

_Why are you calling me that?_

_You don't even know me._

_You don't even know what I am._

“Viktor,” Marina reached out to him, but Viktor grabbed her wrist before she could touch him.

“What?” He didn’t mean for it to, but in that moment, his voice was filled with venom.

He didn’t mean for it to, but in that moment, he had just faulted Marina for something she never did.

“I—” She stepped back, hand retreating to her side, fingers forming to fists. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have tried.”

His chest hurt.

But Viktor needed the pain. He needed to punish himself. He needed to feel at least half of what Dina felt.

But it wasn’t going to bring back Dina, was it?

No scars or bruises can bring back what’s already dead.

* * *

**When Viktor was fourteen, he had grown out his hair.**

Not too long, maybe a few inches past his chin, enough that he could tie it up in a bun. People have also told him he had grown to become prettier, his cheeks protruding just so, chest broadening, standing taller than he had ever been before.

All the girls were swooning, trailing after him.

He was getting confession after confession, which he continually (but most kindly) rejected. By the time it was Winter, Nikolai was already muttering about “having standards too high for anyone to reach”.

“Seriously though, all those girls and Marina’s still the only one,” Valentin nudged him, a stick of cigarette in his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re still head-over-heels for her, because Olga can’t stop talking about you. Not to mention she’s super hot.”

“Hah,” Viktor snorted. “I did like Marina, though.”

“Oh, look at you,” Nikolai punched him in the chest lightly. “The school’s hotshot trailing after a girl he couldn’t get.”

Viktor frowned at him.

“Go on, ask her on a date,” Nikolai grinned. “I’m sure she’ll be interested.”

And that, he did.

Marina was even lovelier now, her hair growing so long it reached her hips, eyes as bright as he remembered them to be.

On the first date, her hand in his, they visited the same museum they went to a few years back.

On the second date, Viktor kissed her. It was nice.

On their third, they were in the same ice cream shop they went to a few years ago, and like always, Marina was an absolute joy to talk to.

“Really? What’s that like?” Marina giggled, humoured by what Viktor had said.

“I don’t know, Ice Skating doesn’t really get much attention so—” Viktor felt himself blush, just slightly. Now he remembered how he liked Marina—because she loved talking about Ice Skating as much as he did. “I’m going to Junior’s this season. Not sure what Yakov has in store, but I’m mostly in St. Petersburg, training. I still couldn’t miss school, so I practice on my own at the local rink, while Yakov’s shouting over Yahoo! Messenger. I can’t tell you enough about the wonders of the thing called the mute button.”

Marina laughed. “You _did_ that?”

“Oh, yes. Several times, to be honest.”

“I want to see that gold medal as soon as possible, then!” Marina smiled.

As Viktor was sputtering his thanks, someone walked into the shop.

Alexei.

Viktor hadn’t seen him in a while. He had gone to high school in the nearby town, but christ, he was more beautiful than ever. He now had an undercut, which was a shame, because Viktor liked his red hair, and as he was walking inside, his eyes caught Viktor’s and—he didn’t wave.

Instead, he was coming toward their table, green eyes shining.

“Hello,” Viktor said, his voice very small.

“Hello to you,” Alexei smiled. He looked to Marina and greeted her as well, though not as warm (or so Viktor imagined). “Ah, my student, all grown up, going on dates.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Although you were already dating at eleven,” Alexei teased. “Who goes on dates at eleven?”

Marina blushed, Viktor even more so. “I—I mean, we—”

“It was a joke, Viktor,” He said, hand patting Viktor’s shoulder. That, did wonders, but Viktor wasn’t supposed to talk about that. “Well, I’ll see you guys around, then. I’ll be in town to train the school’s math decathlon team, so we’ll hopefully run into each other again.”

Alexei bade them goodbye, went to order some take-out, and waved at them one last time before he was out the door.

Viktor hadn’t noticed that he had been staring, and that Marina was observing him.

Upon noticing this, which he should have done much earlier, he cleared his throat and picked up the conversation they had left off.

The night went smoothly, Viktor dropping jokes here and there, and Marina laughed almost adorably. At nine, they were on their way to Marina’s house, Viktor dropping her off like always.

“Vitya,” Marina said, almost whispering his name. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go on.”

“Y-You don’t have to answer, okay? If it’s a bad—um.”

“I'll answer whatever it is you'll ask. Go on,” Viktor said again, more attentive this time, and maybe a little more worried than he had been.

“It’s about Dina Volkova.”

Viktor stiffened, took a deep breath, and asked, “What about her?”

“You understand I was worried about you, right? Back then—” She shook her head. “I know you’ve been working so hard to compete, and I salute you for it, truly. But it wasn’t just that, was it? You were so affected by her—by her death. I didn’t know why.”

“It’s simple, really,” Viktor sighed, though his voice was calm. “No one should die like that. To be pushed to the edge by other people. They shouldn’t have bothered with the bullying. They shouldn’t have—I’m sorry, I’m babbling.”

“Don’t be,” Marina said, eyes gentle. “Viktor, you are kind and lovely and you have a heart too big for anyone to even wrap their head around. I love that about you. Everyone loves that about you.”

Viktor hummed.

“You do have a pretty face,” she teased, earning a humoured snort from Viktor. “But that’s not all you are.”

They continued walking in silence, up until they reached Marina’s house.

Viktor embraced her, and as they pulled away, Marina went in for a kiss. In his shock, Viktor wasn’t able to respond at first, but as he was just beginning to return the kiss, Marina had already stepped back.

She looked down for a moment, blushing. “So, I was right after all.”

“Huh?”

“Vitya,” she reached for him, hands enclosing his face, eyes on his. “It’s not me, is it?”

Viktor blinked. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“Alexei.”

Viktor’s heart dropped. Was he so obvious? Did everyone already knew? Did the hair give it away?

His brain was racing so fast, his heart thumped along with it, and he was inexplicably sweating.

“You think,” Viktor laughed, sounding exasperated. Then his voice dropped, almost a whisper, “You think I’m—that I’m gay?”

She leaned forward, embracing him. “I knew. Always knew. Suspected it, at least.”

Viktor’s whole body had turned to ice. It was Summer, a perfectly fine Summer Moscow could get, but he felt sharp icicles punching through his chest. “Did—Do other people know?”

Marina shook her head, pulled away, and looked him in the eyes. “Like I said, I’ve always known, but I’ve never told anyone,” she said. “Not a soul, and it will stay that way.”

“Why?”

Marina looked confused at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Why would you do that? For me?” Viktor took a deep breath, his chest hurting. “Knowing what—what I _am_?”

“That’s not all that you are,” she told him, as if this was a fact. As if this wasn’t even something Viktor should be asking about. “You are kind and wonderful, you’re loving and beautiful. And dear god, Vitya, whoever said it was wrong?”

Viktor looked down, hands forming to fists. “Them. All of them. Those who bullied Dina. Those who drove her to—to kill—to kill herself.”

Marina embraced him once again. Viktor noticed that he was crying now, tears falling from his cheeks and unto her yellow Summer dress.

“I felt bad for her, too. And when I saw you, I feared that you would do the same. That your secret would eat you up from the inside out,” she hugged him tighter; and this time, Viktor returned the embrace. “That you’d never be free, no matter how many flips and jumps you made. No matter how many bruises it caused you.”

Viktor sobbed silently, allowing his chest to unknot, allowing all his dismay to be released in one full blow. He’s never cried for whatever happened to Dina before, never visited her funeral, never went out of his way to express his condolences.

Marina was wrong. Kind and honest as she was, she was wrong about Viktor being kind—he wasn’t kind, he was a bystander, a coward who let something like that happen to Dina when he knew something was wrong.

“Vitya, I really do care for you,” she said, voice muffled by Viktor’s embrace. “But I also want you to be happy. Go to Alexei, won’t you? Do it for me?”

“Maybe,” Viktor continued to sob, and he stayed like that until his tears ran out.

-

Viktor was sitting in a cafe, reading his Russian poetry assignments, when someone had asked to take the seat in front of him.

The cafe wasn’t full, but without looking up, Viktor huffed a soft, “sure” anyway.

“Ah, Russian poetry, brings me back,” the occupant of the seat across him said.

Viktor looked up, and then his mouth went dry.

“Alexei,” he uttered, almost in disbelief.

“Do you like it?” Alexei asked, his smile lovely.

“I don’t know,” Viktor shrugged, he was too busy thinking up of an eloquent reply when his nerves were getting the better of him. “I just don’t like the assignment, maybe.”

Alexei looked down, eyes trailing on another paperback peeking out of the stack on the table. He pointed to it with his elegant fingers. “May I?”

With his chest almost exploding, Viktor replied with a meek, “go on.”

Alexei took the book, his fingers brushing on Viktor’s wrist very slightly, and began to flip through the pages. “Do you speak French?”

“A little. I can read it well, though. I mean, I don’t brag, but yeah.”

“Oh?” Alexei looked fond. “So I was right when I thought you’re more than a pretty face.”

Viktor flushed, full blown, his ears hot. “Um, huh. Did you—did you just—”

“Call you pretty?” Alexei chuckled lightly. “Why? Something wrong with that?”

“No, um...I’m just,” Viktor sputtered. Alexei will be the death of him, he decided. “I’m really, really overwhelmed.”

They chatted for what felt like a while, Viktor wouldn’t know because he was busy staring, their conversations almost mundane—though from time to time, hinted by a certain tone of flirtatiousness here and there.

Viktor can flirt, that he can do. And soon, he had Alexei laughing to a joke he had just made.

“Are you,” Alexei reached over the table, hand lightly touching Viktor’s, but enough to cause him an aneurysm anyway. “Are you free this Saturday? Or are you training?”

“No, I’ll be training,” Viktor said. “But Sunday, maybe.”

Alexei looked to their hands on the table, long lashes fluttering. “Let’s go to a slam poetry event, then. In the next town. That is, if you want to.”

Who could ever say no to that?

So of course, Viktor went. It was wonderful, Alexei more so.

“Was that avant-garde or just pure randomness?” Viktor asked, as they were walking together under the dim moon, hyped up by all the caffeine he drank that night.

“You know, if you wanted to call something awful, don’t sugar coat it,” Alexei laughed, his bright red hair turning copper against the light of the streetlamps. “A good critique is good for any artist. Rest assured they’ll do better than right-clicking and look for synonyms on Microsoft Word.”

“Rude.”

Alexei paused for a moment, hand slipping into Viktor’s, and Viktor let him.

They did nothing but that on their first date, laughing and talking, and when it was time to go home, Alexei stole a kiss from behind the shadow of a pillar at the train station. “Did I get my second date pass or...?”

“Definitely,” Viktor smiled. “You most definitely did.”

The succeeding dates were fantastic.

Viktor couldn’t help but ride along with the happiness. Even though they couldn’t hold hands unless it was dark or under the table. Even though their kisses were reduced to stolen ones behind closed doors and dark places. Even though their dates never happened near their homes and schools.

But that’s okay.

Alexei was charming and gentle. And even as they ground their hips together, clothed in nothing but sweat and arousal (in a public bathroom, no less), Viktor was filled with elation. Hecared about Marina, truly—they’ve become quite close in the months that followed what had become their last date—but none of it felt like the touch he got from Alexei. None of it felt quite right.

* * *

**When Viktor was fifteen, he would soon realize that happy moments end.**

It started out as a rumour, going around the campus. Viktor would hear something like “that must explain the hair” whenever he walked in the hallways. Nevertheless, he shook them off. Surely, it wasn’t directed at him, was it? A lot of kids made fun of his long hair, but he usually got away with it because the girls fawned over him anyway, so it was no big deal.

It was probably nothing.

Weeks passed, and he was getting more and more second looks than he usually did. Not only from the girls, but the boys, too. Usually, if they looked to him, it would be of amazement or admiration—but this time it was different, they looked either suspicious, sorry, or disgusted. Still, Viktor shrugged this off, pretending he didn’t notice.

He got the general idea for what might have been the cause of this on one Winter afternoon in Nikolai’s house. They were lounging in his bedroom, playing some games on his PS2, when Nikolai asked, “Do you know what they’re saying about you?”

Viktor looked up, abandoning his character in Tekken 3 mid-fight. “What is that?”

“That you’re gay.”

Viktor felt himself tremble, if only just a little.

What did he do? Did they know? What were they saying behind his back? And dear god, did his parents already know?

“ _What_?”

“They said someone saw you with Alexei Kozlov in St. Petersburg,” Nikolai said, his face blank.

Viktor felt himself stiffen, but he tried to keep himself focused, tried not to sound too guilty or worried. This was not the time to break. Not now, maybe later. “I went to slam poetry events in St. Petersburg,” he said, voice dangerously calm. “He likes them, too. So we’ve been running into each other quite frequently.”

“Huh,” Nikolai huffed, shared a look with Valentin, and then his eyes slid to Viktor again. “Are you sure you’re not gay?”

“Definitely,” Viktor replied, with the straightest voice he could ever manage, but the word felt toxic in his own mouth.

-

Alexei was crying.

Viktor was holding his own breath, his heart breaking at the sight. Alexei had come home to coach the current decathlon team at Viktor’s school, beaming as he saw Viktor, but things had turned for the worse once Viktor had told him what he had wanted to say.

“A year, Vitya.” Alexei said, his hand on his lips, barely muffling his sobs. “A year of going through all that and you decided to break up with me?”

“Alexei, I—”

“Because you’re ashamed? Of me?”

Tears were also dropping from Viktor’s eyes, chest almost exploding.

_He will be the death of me._

“Alexei, please,” Viktor caught Alexei’s face in his hands, eyes memorizing his lovely face. Memorizing the feel of him, the smell of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t just—”

“Why? Am I not enough?” He wailed. “Am I not worthy of your _shame_?”

Viktor tried to soothe him further, but Alexei had already stepped away from him, eyes distant. Viktor never remembered his heart shattering this much, from heartbreak and from his own guilt. “I’ll need time to think,” Alexei had said. “Take care of yourself, Vitya.”

And soon, Alexei was gone, his footsteps embedded on the white snow.

Viktor turned to go home, and when he did, he saw his mother—stunned, grocery bags forgotten on the ground.

-

His mama hadn’t told his papa yet.

It had been a month since the encounter, but his mama was still not talking to him like she used to. She didn’t even look him in the eye whenever she needed to talk to him. The night he broke up with Alexei, Katerina simply asked Viktor to follow her and walked off. They never spoke. She never asked.

Maybe it was better that way.

At school, the rumours have been pacified.

Viktor wouldn’t know the extent of it being forgotten, but it was enough that his friends weren’t giving him any suspicious glances anymore. He talked to Marina about it (bless her and her gentle soul) and she had kindly offered to play a role for him—his girlfriend.

But Viktor declined. No, Marina was wonderful and she deserved none of that.

Marina did ask Viktor to go get coffee or ice cream with her, though. He may not have fully agreed to the fake-girlfriend situation, but their friendliness was doing wonders in making people think the rumours untrue.

Viktor wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Little by little, he started to forget about the rumours, about Alexei, about his mama knowing about it. Though she wasn’t talking to him as she normally would have, Viktor was fine with it.

It was okay. They were fine.

They weren’t fighting.

All that changed when Viktor came home a day late from his practice with Yakov in St. Petersburg. He missed his own flight, called in to inform his parents about it, and flew the next day.

However, instead of a warm welcome, Viktor was held up by his collar and pushed against the wall.

“What were you doing in St. Petersburg?” Anton asked, eyes filled with fury.

“Papa, I don’t—”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” He slammed Viktor against the wall again, with enough force that Viktor was seeing black spots in his vision. “Who’s the boy? What’s his name?”

Viktor’s eyes went wide. “Papa, I didn’t. I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t lie to me, you scum!” He threw Viktor carelessly on the floor, like he was a ragdoll, like Viktor wasn’t his son. Anton thrust his finger out, eyes burning holes on Viktor. “Is that what they teach you in St. Petersburg? Did you catch something those disgusting _fags_ had while you were out there competing?!”

Katerina made a move to stop her husband, but Anton turned to her and pointed at her direction. “Don’t you dare come here and stop me, woman.” He said, voice venomous. “It’s your fault he turned out this way!”

The next thing Viktor knew, he was being dragged none too gently toward his room, Anton throwing him on the floor forcefully. “Think,” Anton spoke through gritted teeth. “You’ll stay here and think about what you’ve done.”

Then the door slammed shut.

Soon after, Viktor could hear the sound of a padlock clicking.

It only got worse after that.

At first, Anton just prohibited him from going anywhere else after school.

No more than a week passed, Anton was beating him bloody, drunk and angry and generally out of himself.

The beating only happened during the weekends at first, and all the bruises and scratches were tactfully hidden in places on one will see—none on his face and arms.

Soon after, Anton had turned into a full-blown alcoholic, beating Viktor repeatedly until he couldn’t walk. With his face bruised and his limping very noticeable, Viktor couldn’t even go to school anymore.

Hands, fists, a wrench, a baseball bat—all hitting him where it hurt.

“Mama, make it stop!” Viktor had called to Katerina once, as he looked to her, standing at the corner of the room—trying to make herself invisible.

“Papa, I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”

Viktor was silenced by a blow to the jaw, his face hitting the rug, blood spewing out of his mouth.

“Anton, no!” Katerina shouted from across the room, her hand held out for her son.

Viktor reached for her, she was so close, so...

He was yanked by his long hair, pulled across the room unkindly by the hands of his own father. The next thing he knew was that he was in his room.

Alone in the darkness.

There was silence, but only for a moment, before he heard the sound of porcelain crashing to the floor.

“ _Zolotse_ , please. Don’t do this!” His mother wailed.

Viktor stood, ignoring the pain on his ribs and ankles, tried to open the door, but it was locked.

“Anton, don’t—” And then there was a familiar sound of a slap.

Katerina wailed, her crying was both of pain and a plead for mercy.

“This is what you get for tolerating your own son, you filthy whore!”

Viktor pressed his back against the door, slid down, covering his ears.

He didn’t want this. Didn’t want any of it. It went on, and on, and on.

_Mama, I’m sorry._

_I really did love you, Mama._

_I’m sorry, but I can’t help but hate you too._

So he sat there, in the dark room, his heart shattering to a million pieces.

-

It was three in the morning.

The shouting had stopped about two hours ago, and Viktor was still there, bloodied and broken.

He looked up to the skies from his windows, wondered what the hell he going to do now. He can’t stay. He couldn’t. Any more of this and he was going to end his own life like Dina Volkova.

Dina.

Did she suffer like this, too? Was she beaten bloody like Viktor had been for the past three months? Was she hiding her scars and her bruises beneath her clothes all this time?

Viktor cried.

He’s been crying all this time, what harm would it do him now?

_No. I shall not go down like this. For Dina. For Marina. For Alexei._

Hissing from pain, Viktor got up, packed his skates, a spare shirt, and his wallet. He scoured his drawer for what little savings he had from not spending too much. He found a hooded sweater, something thick and loose. Biting his lip, he slipped it on and changed into a loose pair of pants.

He tied his hair, got his bag, and with the intention to leave fifteen years of his life behind, he climbed out of the window.

* * *

**When Viktor was twenty-eight, he realized that with the right person, happiness did not end.**

He was in Barcelona, with all his friends, his newfound family, and his new husband.

Viktor was not a perfect man, never will be, never enough to be a man to stand by Yuuri’s side. Yuuri was wonderful, a force of nature—and as his mama would have said—devastatingly beautiful.

He had spent half of his life with hate, with reckless sex, with atrocious alcoholism—the kind of hedonistic life on who didn’t have a care in the world had—but Yuuri had brought love and life in his existence.

Viktor leaned in to poke his nose endearingly on Yuuri’s own.

Yuuri smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful- _er_.”

“I’m not sure that’s a proper word,” Yuuri muttered.

“You just ruined the mood, my sweetness.” Viktor bent down, his head cradled on Yuuri’s shoulder. He was silent for a while, just slowly dancing while Yuuri was leading, and then whispered, “Mama called just after the ceremony.”

Yuuri stiffened, heart pounding against Viktor's chest. Viktor burrowed deeper into the crook of Yuuri's neck, inhaling the sweet scent of him. “She said she’s met you and was proud that I have chosen a great man to be with,” He sighed. “And that she’s sorry.”

Yuuri kissed his temple gently, a silent response.

“I said I’d forgiven her,” Viktor whispered. “And I apologized for not being there when Papa turned his hand against her.” Viktor’s voice was very small now, as if he was only muttering to himself. “Would you want to visit my mother in Moscow? Maybe this Christmas?”

“I'd love to,” Yuuri smiled.

They danced in silence again, not minding the world around them, and then, Viktor kissed Yuuri’s neck. “I love you, _Zolotse_. God, I love you and I’m not sure my chest will ever be able to contain it.”

“I know, Vitya. I know.”

At twenty-eight, Viktor wasn't perfect, not even close. But he vowed to spend the rest of his life, no matter its length, in making Yuuri's own beautiful.

And maybe one day, with all the love he got from the many people around him, his heart could finally heal.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have accidentally written Alexei to be the "one that got away" but what can you do?
> 
> Also, I admit to have taken a break writing [Lightning in a Bottle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10153043/chapters/22556420) because I needed to get all this angst out of my system, so yeah. Next chap of it coming soon.
> 
> Anyways, tell me what you think!


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